The Four Seasons
by Brunix Duran
Summary: Roppi/Shizuo, Izaya and Tsukishima. What if everyone you'd ever known left your side? What if you knew there was nothing of worth about you - What if you knew what you were doing was wrong, and you just couldn't stop? M for later chapters.
1. A Brush With Sanity

A Note Before Beginning;

Hello there. This isn't my first fan fiction, and probably won't be my last. I've taken a relatable liking to these characters, however, and have decided to attempt a little something involving them. I hope that I'll be able to convey their emotions and thoughts to you accurately and simplistically, and that most of all, you enjoy my interpretation of their inner battles and relationships as much as I do.

**Disclaimer: **I own none of these characters. All of these characters belong to their respective creators of DRRR!.

**This story contains malexmale relationships. **

* * *

><p><strong>Irony. <strong>

Cruel, cruel irony. That's the only way it could be described, right? Ice that melted, cold as the bittersweet snow of winter; and fell as droplets onto porcelain flesh, freezing it to the core. But is a heart that's already gone affected by frostbite? He didn't think so. Time and time again came the change of the season, and it seemed he was stuck in an ever-winding meltdown. Just when the sun would reach its peak over the horizon, and hope seemed in his grasp – it would disappear again, leaving him behind to rot in the dead ended sorrow that was this endless road.

And so, there he lay in that pile of frozen snow. Ice crunched at his fingertips, blood-painted nails staining purity with spectral tints. "What is left for me here?" He would ask; hues of sanguine narrowing on the shivering of his own digits.

_Nothing._

Always, that nameless voice would answer. And the black-clad male would follow this voice, as far as oblivion, if he had to. 'Why, that's insane!' one might exclaim. But for a man with no hope, and no other sounds to hear but the chilling nothingness of solstice, even the chimes of insanity begin to become reassuring. Questions would be asked, and answers would come – answers of his own subconscious, answers to questions he already knew. Questions such as, 'Where is everyone?'

_They've left you._

"But why?"

_There's nothing to keep them here._

"It's not easy. . . This is never easy."

Just as before, salt would begin to melt the ice, the taint of liquid sorrow slowly beginning to erode the solidity. "If I could just find the right chance."

And then, the voices would stop. Once again, he would be left for dead; to wallow in his own regrets, and self-loathing. Par to usual, he was alone.

* * *

><p><strong>Guilt.<strong>

_You're a monster._

"Ahh, shut up." Annoyed, for the umpteenth time that day, a certain man found himself walking the streets of the city in thoughts better left to the dreaming state of mind. But being rather introverted since a young age, this young human was always digging into his own subconscious. And why not, what could he possibly find that he didn't already know – possibly like what he'd just heard. At some point, it had become annoying. Perhaps it was the melting snow that reminded him. Tints of white would seep into the obsidian fabric he wore, and would slowly wet the threads until they began to annoy him. "Damn. I guess I'll be changing when I get home. Again."

Winter was never his favorite. It was too cold, and he much preferred the warmth that summer provided. Plus, everything good that could happen, tended to happen in Summer. Perhaps that was because that's when all of the kids got out of school, and it gave the parents an opportunity to show their children things they normally wouldn't be able to. But there he went again; lost in his own thoughts. And suddenly, he was faced with a realization.

"Did I have work today?"

He didn't remember being called in. Oh, well; it was a little late, now. Ever the aloof one, he was. That is, until a fight between a couple of gang-involved teens caught his attention.

Now, contrary to popular belief, he hated violence. Well, okay. He found _professional_ fighters, such as karate experts, entertaining to watch. But there was artistic ability in that; finesse! Finesse he didn't possess and artistic ability that he could never achieve. That a monster could never achieve. "Tch. ."

As if winter didn't grate on his nerves already; now there were children fighting. He tried to turn his back, tried lighting a cigarette and taking a deep puff. It worked. . . For about five minutes, until one of the children started begging the other to stop. "AGGH!"

Weight. Extreme weight. Something snapped, and suddenly the children had scattered. In their place was shattered pavement, the concrete having bust under the pressure of a large, drink-filled vending machine, its lights now flickering as the power cord had broken in all of the commotion. By the time he'd come to, he was heaving, and was vaguely aware that he had not a single clue what had happened – apart from the fact that he had obviously blown a fuse. Again. Every time he got mad, he became some sort of superhuman. No. . . He didn't deserve to call himself a human. But he calmed steadily, noticing that the children had run off, and didn't seem to have any intentions of coming back. ". . . Mm."

He would've been find knowing that, if he hadn't looked up. There it was – that harsh, unforgiving flake that ever-so-eloquently fell upon his nose. He was vaguely aware of a deafening silence; he was alone.

* * *

><p><strong>Treachery.<strong>

"Ahaha! This season is my favorite of all!"

Excited, a well-known trouble maker roamed the city, without a care in the world. It was as if the weight of current affairs didn't matter to this man, and if they didn't, he never voiced it. Skipping along, he would turn corners, and inspect people, if only for his own amusement – especially when they looked back at him, wondering just what in the world he was doing.

"I'm showing you my love, of course," He would respond to their curious glances; as if he knew exactly what they were thinking, and they were expecting him to speak up about it.

This man, if it can be said, was quite peculiar in his own right. He was a bit narcissistic, and a little over the top. He claimed to love all of humanity equally – as if he were some sort of superior being, and yet, he never failed to get a kick out of the looks on a human's features when they were faced with torment. He would describe it as a masterpiece; and recall each detail in an almost terrifying manner, and it was then that one would realize he could easily be a profiler for the FBI. Sadly, this man had no respect or honor with the law. In fact, he was an unruly citizen, one that would go right around every moral any other man had, and would swipe the city up into one big mess. Before you knew it, you were a part of his grand master plan, and there was no way out but to go through.

It was for this reason that he wasn't exactly liked by the humans he so-determinedly claimed to love. In fact, he was little short of a manipulator, one who would do _anything_ to further his own goals. Now, most criminals have a reason for their goals. A motive, if you will. Alas, this man had nothing of that sort in mind. In fact, if he did anything, it was for his own entertainment.

_Your modus operandi isn't exactly admirable._

Stopping in his tracks, the male would squint. He would look about for a short while, as if expecting the owner of that voice to slide through every crack in the wall they could, then just materialize. Boots crunching in the slush, he would turn for a few moments, before releasing a loud uproar of laughter. "Oh, you! Keep complimenting me like that, and you might get somewhere!"

He would wait for a response, but when none came, he found himself a little more than uneasy. It wasn't until he gave up, making his way back to his office, that he would find that voice familiar. ". . ."

He would debate this, as he sat at his desk, his swivel chair leaning back to accommodate the man's weight. Not that he weighed much more than a feather. Gazing towards his computer, he would stare at the screen; he'd yet to open a thing. So what if his way of doing things wasn't the best? It always got him where he wanted to be. And besides, he never second guessed himself. Just because he was alone. . That didn't matter.

* * *

><p><strong>Hopeless.<strong>

Brutality at its finest. That was the only way to describe this world. For a man like this, one who would trip over his own feet and fall down the stairs; one who would cry hopelessly over a scene from a manga that wasn't real. Down to the very last straw, this man was hopeless. Despite this, he still tried his best to be strong, and in many other's eyes – those who paid him even a passing glance, that is – that made him stronger than anyone.

But he would never think so. And why should he? There was nothing to like about him, no good traits that held him chained to the Earth, like everyone else he knew. The only thing that really kept him here was a photograph; a photograph from so long ago, that it was bent and deteriorating. Now some may ask, 'why not just take another photo?' Oh, if it were only that simple for this young man.

Sad as a soul that he may be, he actually didn't like the winter. He found it brought nothing but grief for his memories, the shackles on his heart only dragging him down ever further each day. He wanted to let go of his past – he did. But it wasn't so simple. It was on days like this, when the snowflakes dribbled across his window, and melted to liquid in seconds; when they froze the glass shut, and he was left to stare at that photograph from so long ago, his forehead leaning against the solid surface. "Why can't it be Spring?"

His jaw would clench, teeth grinding down, and he found he would cry. He knew he was weak for doing it, and he knew It would never stop; an endless cycle of torment. And he would cling to that letter that came with that photo for all it was worth; red ink staining his fingers, like it did every year. 'Good bye', it would read, and that last sentence would always shatter his being, his head leaning back as salt crashed into carpet.

Truly, he was a mess.

Sadly, this young male's story doesn't get better. In fact, it gets steadily worse – but such is the life for someone as hopeless as he. "But I can get better!" He would say, sniffing back his tears, and swallowing down what remained of his sadness. "I can prove myself, that way, when I see him again, he'll be proud!"

_But that's not you._

And he knew it. No matter how many times he tried to say, 'I can change!'; no matter how often he tried to shout, 'I can prove myself, I can get better!' – it never came. And his shame to know that had no boundaries. Every day, he would set out to find this man. He would search the city, search the outskirts – any sign he could find of the male from the photograph, the one he knew had chosen the cool breeze of Autumn over the harsh biting winds of Winter.

"I won't give up!" He would shout as loud as he could, his promise to himself being the only thing to keep him from breaking down once more.

"I will never give up."


	2. Identity Crisis

**Disclaimer: **I own none of these characters. All of these characters belong to their respective creators of DRRR!.

**This story contains malexmale relationships. **

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><p>It was quiet.<p>

A little too quiet, really. But that was to be expected when you were left in a desolate wasteland, nothing but frost bite to comfort your numb limbs. Slowly, the man would stand, bloodshot orbs only mixing in with the bright, red color of his irises. It was like a blizzard out here, the way the snow was falling so fast; it appeared to be a fog of white, though thankfully, the wind wasn't all too bad. He was covered in bits of ice, and his lips were a pale blue, but half of the time he seemed to appear this way anyways.

"This winter is especially cold," He spoke, to no one in particular. It's not like he'd receive an answer, either way. There was no one. And no one in their right minds would come to this abandoned outer-region park of Ikebukuro, a bustling city that had more than enough sense to keep indoors. Being on the outskirts was always worse, when it came to weather patterns. But it kept the raven away from the general population, and that's what he'd always wanted.

Ever since he was young, Hachimenroppi hated humans. Now, this was a bit of a tender subject with him – the reasons were rather nasty. But when your creator was the man you hated most, humans tend to grate on your nerves from an early age. "Now, now," That man would say; "You should control your temper! You're going to end up like Shizu-chan, and that would be a shame!"

_Shizu-chan?_

His inner voice would repeat. So now this man was comparing him to someone he didn't even know. Well that was just peachy. As usual, Hachimenroppi – Roppi, as he preferred – Would simply turn his back on that dreaded scum, attempting to keep his sanity. It didn't work out too often. But that was just the start of it.

In his adolescence, things got no better. Picture for a moment that there's a man; they're at least somewhat social, they seem to get along with everyone they meet – assuming of course, the other person can get through that hard-to-crack outer shell. They're well-loved all around, despite that horrid nature and bad reputation. Keep that picture in your mind, and now, try to imagine that steadily, all of these people went away. Not just disappeared – but in saddening, sometimes violent ways. Even with relationships, these things begin to happen, and then, slowly but surely, this man is alone. There's more than likely a debate going on in the recesses of your mind; 'well, he had a bad attitude'. Or, 'well, who would want to be around someone with a terrible reputation?'

Say this reputation came from the people that betrayed him. And say that his attitude is a result of the former betrayal. Over time, it could only get worse. Most people would probably consider the solution simple – find someone trust worthy, stick by them, and eventually, the clock will start ticking again.

But now, for the final thought, imagine this man has never met a trustworthy person in his life, and is bid to the ill fortune of never receiving the courtesy of such.

Things become a little more complicated.

Oddly, while Roppi fits that 'man's description perfectly, he's rather stable on the outside. He has a blank demeanor, and an even blanker attitude; in fact, he doesn't display emotion at all, hence having a 'terrible attitude'. When offered a hand to shake, he'll watch until it drops – and when shown a kind word here or there, he'll do nothing but back away. Some may call this pitiable, but this raven calls it a precaution. Getting too close is asking to be burned, and he ran from the kitchen far too long ago to go barging in with skillets.

But if it's the inside we're meant to be speaking of, that is an entirely different matter. No turmoil can be worse than that of a man who not only hates the entirety of the human race, but out of that race, hates himself most of all. More than that informant, who claims to be the opposite; more than that young blonde from so long ago could have ever imagined. Young blonde. .

Looking down, Roppi would fish through his red fur-trimmed jacket, nails clambering through multiple objects before it pulled what it was looking for. A letter.

If there was one thing about Hachimenroppi that was well known, it was that the dark-haired male was incredibly artistic. He drew; he wrote. He could act, and even sing, not that anyone ever heard. Admittedly, however, his guilty pleasure was writing letters – and never, ever sending them. Perhaps it was just because there were certain things about him that he didn't want the world to know, but still wanted to get off of his chest. While this was not one of those letters, it was a letter that he probably should have replied to. But no. He had been too afraid, and even now, years later; he regretted it to the end of his days. The letter, written in red ink, read simply;

"You can't mean that! We've been pen pals for four years, and I've always wanted to meet you. You've helped me so much; you've taught me things about other people and the world that I would have never learned without you. But I know better than to push your buttons. . I learned a long time ago that when you say something, you mean it. So I just want you to know that I'll cherish this picture forever, and someday, I'll find you."

Every time Roppi read that letter, it made him sick. And yet, he never threw it away. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to; in truth, that kid was rather annoying. He was clumsy and needed help with everything; hell, if it wasn't for Roppi, that boy wouldn't understand the first thing about the real world! "Tch." Once again, he found himself folding the paper back up, and putting it in his pocket. He had no idea what the other boy looked like, except that he was blonde. That wasn't much to go off of. But it wasn't like Roppi would be the one looking; and they'd stopped talking two years ago, now. Who would still be searching after two years, especially for someone like Roppi.

"Yea, right." Releasing another 'hmph', the raven would only stomp away, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. He would then approach a back road, and without a second though, dived into the alleyway. Slipping out of the other end, he walked out just in time to hear, "Oh, you! If you keep complimenting me like that, you might get somewhere!"

Roppi's head snapped to the side. That voice sounded oddly familiar. . Who was it?

_Me?_

No, of course not. That'd be silly, Roppi wasn't even talking. However, after a mini-debate about this to himself, the man was already skipping away. "Hm. ." Well, that was strange. Who was he talking to, Roppi wondered? Himself, perhaps?

He didn't know.

But he also didn't have the patience to even begin questioning it.

Stepping out to where the man had been, he looked at the slush beneath him, his boots crunching the melting ice beneath them. ". . Heh."

There were no cars; no other people. If it were like this all the time, Roppi might actually grow to appreciate winter. That was, until he heard a second gush of wet snow, his head lifting to gaze at the source of the sound.

"Hate. . Everything."

"What. .?"

* * *

><p>There wasn't a response.<p>

Instead, a young man, a blonde; walked past the red-clad raven, the small breeze blowing the colored fleece on his hood back in the burning wind. The man was dressed in a bartender suit, and wearing. . Sunglasses. In this already gloomy weather, no less!

Now, there were really only two ways to ever catch Roppi's attention. Being that he hated humans, it was nearly impossible for him to group you out of a general section filed under 'dislike'. The first option was to do something extraordinary. That being, be someone fascinating, do something useful with your life, rather than being a normal, everyday human. And he didn't mean actors, or singers. He meant people with 'supernatural' talents, the kind that made them extremely interesting – such as professional fighters, or even someone that could psychologically banter with him for more than a minute. Be unique. Secondly; have something about you that is extremely personal, and share it with him. If it's something he has in common, he finds that he often attaches himself to that person, thinking that perhaps, if they've been through the same; they won't do it to me. If you hate humans too, share it with him, tell him about it. If you've been wronged so many times you don't believe in a right, then share with him. These two things are the only surefire way of knowing Roppi will even somewhat appreciate your existence, or at least speak with you.

That being said, hearing a strange looking man say such words on an open sidewalk immediately caught the man's interest. And he watched, down to when the blonde walked away, until he instantly looked to the slush where the other had walked. "How. . Intriguing."

Sadly enough, Roppi's conditions of enjoying another's company weren't exactly the best. They often earned him even more drama, and an even worse reputation. However, he'd learned to let go of whether or not he _seemed_ like a good person. He was well aware of the fact that he lacked all means of being such. He was always surrounding himself with angst-filled people, and it seemed like just from that little brush, this man would be no different. But Roppi would succeed in finding a way to know this man, and he would learn the bartender inside out.

This may have seemed brash, but the one true fact about Roppi, out of everything his reputation claimed, it was that he was a stalker. Not so much the kind of stalker that wanted to kill you in your sleep, but just the kind that wanted to watch your movements as you slept, or the way your features might twitch if having a nightmare. Perhaps this was a trait he picked up from his 'father'; that being, Izaya Orihara. The man was a fiend, and certainly a stalker as well, although, he tended to stalk all of humanity. . And not just one person. Sadly. . This man was the only one that would know about any human in particular. Being an informant and all, that was his job. And Roppi would have liked to avoid him at all costs – he hadn't seen the man since he was 8, when he was left to fend for himself 'since he was so tough'. Hibiya laughed at him, and Psyche felt sorry, but Roppi despised Psyche for obeying Izaya's every word; and thus denied his help at every turn.

"Would I go that far. .?" After all, he hadn't even tried speaking to the man yet. But the blonde didn't exactly seem to want to be on speaking terms. But maybe he'd stick around a bit; follow the other at a few turns, here and there. Maybe then, he'd find out more.

* * *

><p>"Kill, gonna kill, gonna kill, gonna kill!" These were the words seeping from the blonde man's mouth, his teeth clenching as his fists followed in the movement, brows furrowing in irritation. "Dammit all!"<p>

First, there was the fight with those kids. Then there was the trail of Izaya's scent, but just as he'd gotten there, it went cold. Now, he couldn't find a convenience store that was open in the snow, for some milk! "Aaaggh!" Frustrated, he huffed to himself, mocha orbs narrowing on the nearest street post. Perhaps if he just bent it. . No, that wouldn't do him any good. Placing a hand to his forehead, he pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to ease his headache. "Aaah. ." It worked. For about five seconds that was, until he was bumped into.

"S-Sorry!" The man would shout, but immediately go running.

Shizuo stared – for a grand total of five seconds, before shouting, "GONNA KILL!" and uprooting the sign post. Throwing them into the walls of the nearest buildings, he would then backtrack, hoping at this point to just find his way home. "Stupid. . Damn. . Hate. ." He wasn't even forming coherent sentences; that's how you knew it was bad.

"Hate, hate, hate. ."

Little did this blonde know that a certain raven had seen that entire show of strength, and was now fascinated beyond belief.

"Wow. ."

The ex-bartender whipped around, gazing at nothing in particular. That was, until a form emerged from the shadows of an alleyway, approaching the blonde with curiosity. "That was amazing. ."

Shizuo couldn't help but stare. First off, who the hell was this guy, and why did that face tick him off so much? And who was he to call it amazing! Only a monster could do those things, someone inhuman, someone who was worthless. "Tch," He spouted, hissing in annoyance. With that, he would turn his back on that man.

"No, I mean it!" He would hear; stopping for a moment, if only to attempt tolerating that voice. Something about that voice. . "You really are amazing, that was incredible. Have you always been able to do things like that? It's. . Really something. ."

Shizuo blinked. "What?" Turning slowly, it's just then that it dawned on him. ". . . IIIIZAAAAYAAA."

Rage immediately pooled in his abdomen – but 'Izaya' didn't smirk. In fact, Izaya got a very annoyed disposition, before he looked to his feet.

". . I know I look like him. Don't. . Go comparing me to him, too."

Shizuo snarled. "You can't pull your tricks on me, flea. I'm not some dumbass you just met yesterday!"

Roppi could only frown. Maybe he shouldn't have bothered saying anything at all. . Because now he wouldn't even speak. He only kept his gaze downcast, ashamed of having anything to do with that 'twin' of his at all. Biting his lip, he only awaited whatever judgment Shizuo had in store; If only to hear the soft crunch of snow.

The raven didn't even realize his eyes were closed until he opened them, watching as the bartender had placed his hands into his pockets and began to stalk away. "W-Wait!" He would shout, following that intriguing man as he knew he forever would. "At least tell me your name!"

"Like you don't know it already," was that harsh reply.

"I. . I really don't."

Once more, the blonde was brought to a screeching halt. He turned slowly, as if what Roppi had said caused hell to freeze over. "You seriously don't?"

Roppi shook his head. It wasn't like he was 'hip with the times', and he didn't exactly have friends. "I'm not a social person. ." He admitted quietly, though he knew the other male would listen. Or at least, was hoping. "Well. . I mean. . I am, just. . The people I associate with, they don't. . Really care about things like that, and whether they do or doesn't, doesn't really matter. They leave." With that, he looked up at the blonde, a certain solemn disposition causing the other male to stare. "Down to the very last ones. So. . For the record. . No. I wouldn't know."

Shizuo wasn't sure what about that struck the chord, but this man was not Izaya. Even Izaya wouldn't sink so low as to take on an entirely different identity, especially one that would strike his pride this way. ". . Shizuo." He said simplistically, to which the dark-haired male would lift his head, lips parting in surprise. "You're. . You're him?"


	3. Running

**Disclaimer: **I own none of these characters. All of these characters belong to their respective creators of DRRR!.

**This story contains malexmale relationships. **

* * *

><p>"Gotta go, gotta go!"<p>

For the fifth time this week, while moping on his window, a familiar blonde had laid eyes on a man that looked drastically like the one in his favorite photograph. He seemed a little different than what the letters would portray – that being, every time Tsukishima laid eyes on the other male, he was _skipping._ That was not the nature of this man he'd been pen palling with for so long. He found himself looking over that letter, one more time before reaching for his scarf.

"I'm sorry. But knowing you'll be moving here soon; that's not something I want to deal with. I enjoyed our long distance talks, and as you know, have dealt with all kinds of failed close-distance relationships – friends or not. That being said, I no longer want anything to do with you. Enclosed here is a photograph. Perhaps it will be something you can remember me by. However, I have no intentions of returning anything else you send.

Goodbye."

As predicted, Tsukishima sent many more letters after that. He even went to the address provided on the letters when he got to Ikebukuro, only to find that his mysterious pen pal had moved, leaving no traces on where he might've gone. The man never did respond, and all Tsukishima had to go off of was this simple photograph. He seemed to be a simplistic man; black hair, but stark, crimson eyes, much like Tsukishima's own. He wore a long-sleeved black shirt, which had a bit of a scoop neck. It showed the raven's collarbone, and then dipped into a sudden V, lined with red-trim and metallic ovals through which a corset tie might be used. The string used to tie across the man's chest was black; although Tsukishima remembered in one letter that the male had said he sometimes used white string, and other times, no string at all. Perhaps this was a silly thing to be remembering, but Tsukishima was one to appreciate the little things. Nevertheless, that's all he ever saw, although there was a fur-trimmed jacket in the background. . Whoever had taken the picture, the background was blurred, so he couldn't tell what color or fabric it was.

But the first time he'd been sobbing against his window, ready to retrieve his knife for self-harm, he'd seen _him._ A man, dark-haired like the one in the photograph; he was wearing a V-neck, different from the one in the photo, but it was lined with white, and strung together corset-style with a black string. Instantly, Tsukishima's heart had leaped into his throat. The raven was even wearing a _fur-trimmed jacket;_ Tsuki thought he was going to die of happiness. He'd run out into the street near immediately, shouting for the man to stop – but by the time he'd gotten there, the raven had disappeared into one of the back streets, carrying about on his marry way.

This time wouldn't be that way. Tsuki had begun to notice a pattern; the man would skip by, every month on the third Wednesday. Apparently he had some shopping in this area to do, because he always took the same route. Sometimes Tsuki would hear some commotion soon afterwards; someone shouting a name that was foreign to Tsuki, and then, all would be silent. Evidently though, the man would get out alive. But having taken notice of this was to the blonde's advantage and, mustering up the courage that he had gained over years of reciting this 'hello' to himself – Tsukishima stepped out of his house. And just in time; the raven came skipping around the corner, looking ever pleased with the world at hand as he possibly could.

But this time, he stopped. Why was he stopping? Was it because Tsukishima was in his way, even if they were yards apart? Was something running through the man's mind?

No number of recitals could have prepared Tsukishima for this moment. Now that he was faced with the man of his past, he couldn't speak up. He couldn't even get his voice to come from his mouth, a higher pitch than a whisper. "E-E. . Excuse. . . M—"

"Shizu-chan, what are you doing in that ridiculous get up? You look terrible in that. Snow or not, I didn't think scarves were your thing!"

"E-Eh?" Confusion set in almost as quickly as his anxiety. What did the other man mean? Who was Shizu-chan, was it because his first name was Shizuo? But no one knew that, he only ever went by Tsukishima! And this scarf was very special to him. .!

"Oh, and now you're not going to speak? Tch, how pathetic~ Really, humans are so entertaining when they look lost! Ahahaha! Oh, but you're not even human, are you? You're a monster."

Instantly, Tsuki looked down. What was this about? What did he mean by 'monster'? So what if he wasn't good with people, that didn't make him a monster!

"I. . I don't know. . What's happened to you. ."

"Haaa~?" Just what was that supposed to mean? What's happened to him? Shizuo sure was acting weird today. And what was with that quiet demeanor? Really, this wasn't like _his_ Shizu-chan at all! By now the man should've uprooted the nearest street sign and began to run after him. That was a normal day in Ikebukuro, after all. Specifically on this route, since Shizuo always knew where he was. This caused a quizzical expression to cross brazen features, brows furrowing. Wait. .

"I-I've looked. . All this time, I've looked for you. . And. . Y-You say, those words. . Like I'm nothing to you. . Did you really mean it? Am I really nothing?"

Izaya had to lean even further than he originally did to hear those words. Oh, my. . It seemed someone had him confused with someone else! But that meant. .

Looking up, Izaya blinked. This man had red eyes, as vibrant as his very own. "You're not Shizu-chan, are you?"

"N-No! Roppi, you know who I am!"

Oh. Now _this_ was rich. Apparently his long-lost counterpart was involved with one of Shizuo's own! _Does Shizu-chan even know you exist? _Izaya wondered; before a smirk tugged over his features. Unlike his other counterparts, Roppi was the most directly related to Izaya of them all. They shared the exact same traits, no matter how hard the other male tried to escape it. After Roppi had run away, Izaya was sure he'd be left for dead. Apparently, that wasn't the case.

"Of course! How could I forge-"

But before he could even finish his sentence, the man was running past him, having knocked into him and run as fast as he could in the opposite direction. Izaya frowned. _And I was planning to have some fun with you, too. Ah, well. Now that I know about you. . Don't think I'm going to forget about you._ Smiling even wider than before, the male had a bit more of a kick in his step as he skipped back into his usual alleyways; prancing until he'd made it to his sushi shop of choice. Thankfully, it had free internet, and Izaya was always one to come here when he didn't want his history dug into. _Let's see what I can find out about you._

* * *

><p>"I-I'm not a monster," Tsuki would whimper, continuing to run as far as he could. He couldn't believe it. . That man. . That man couldn't have been Roppi! Roppi would never act like that, he would never say those things! Gasping out a sob, he sniffled as he turned the corner, only to harshly brush against someone else, bumping into what appeared to be a fellow blonde's shoulder until he almost fell backwards. "S-Sorry!" He would shout, only to run as far away as he could in the next second. This was terrible. It was truly, beyond terrible. All of that time. . Had it been a waste? Had what seemed like an endless struggle to find the only one who had ever cared, been a wild goose chase? No. . No, he would never be convinced! But still. . It didn't explain why that man looked exactly like the one in the photograph. .<p>

"Oh, God. ." Tears refused to stop streaming down already stained features, before the blonde collapsed into the nearest pile of snow, knees pulled to his chest as he cried. Horrified didn't begin to describe it. "What do I do now. . ?"

* * *

><p><strong>Nightfall<strong>.

The streets were fairly quiet, and the only thing littering them at this moment was a nearly frozen Tsukishima; the only cushioning against the re-hardening ice being his scarf, even the fabric having grown wet and cold with the taint of winter. _Maybe. . It was just a really bad dream._ He would imagine, eyes slowly closing, their puffy, swollen lids not allowing him to stay awake any longer.

_I truly am pathetic. I can't do anything on my own. But no one would ever want to help me. I'm just a leech. . _

More tears were the only comfort against the frozen night he had, that was, until out of his tunnel vision gaze, he could just barely hear a voice. It was like being on a drug, really; so far gone that you can't even make out a single sound. His eyes were blurry, so far beyond blurry that everything seemed unreachable. He couldn't help but continue to cry – and he felt as though he were floating, for a moment – before he finally allowed black to take over.

He awoke to the sound of a dog barking, an annoyance, really. It seemed to have been coming from outside, but all he could do was squint as the sun blared at him through the window. Wait. . The sun. . Where was he? Instantly, he shot up, covers melding into a crumpled mess at his fingertips. Seeing this, crimson hues shot downward. Covers. . He would move his hand to either side of him, digits pushing into the plush mattress. A bed. . How in the world did he get here?

"Aaah, you're awake. I thought you'd gotten pneumonia, Tsuki-chan!"

_Tsuki-chan. . ? _Tsukishima blinked. Who was this man, and how did he know his name? And that voice sounded so familiar. . "Haa. ." Rubbing his eyes, he sniffed; he still had a stuffy nose from yesterday, and a massive headache from all of the tears. "Roppi. .?"

_"That's right._" Eyes widening, Tsukishima's gaze shot up. He tried to focus, but he then realized the reason he couldn't see. "Glasses. ." He felt around until he looked towards a counter, and, vaguely noticing their outline, grabbed them; then put them on. "I found those in the snow, a few blocks away." The raven spoke, a brilliant smirk playing across his features. "I figured you might want them." Tsuki stared. A few blocks away. .?

Tsukishima's anxiety only came back ten-fold. What was he supposed to say? How could he speak, this was the man from yesterday, right! The very man that. . Hopes drowning themselves, Tsukishima looked to his hands, folding them neatly in his lap as he held the covers tight.

"I apologize for yesterday."

"H-huh?" Looking up, Tsukishima nearly gasped. Maybe his hopes weren't senseless after all. .! "I had you confused for someone else. There's a man that looks _just_ like you." Tsukishima's head tilted; a man that looked just like him? He'd never seen anyone like that before. . "O-oh?" What could anyone say to that?

"And I just _despise_ him."

Really, Izaya had already planned a lot of this out in his head. He knew for a fact that Roppi had made contact with Shizuo, and how? Because Izaya knew everything, of course; but he got his information from somewhere, and that somewhere mainly being the people around him.

* * *

><p><strong>Nightfall<strong>.

"IIIIZAAAAAYAAA!"

"Ahaha, Shizu-chan, why do you bother trying! You'll never catch me!" Running was his favorite pastime, it seemed. If anyone ever wondered why Izaya Orihara was as skinny as a stick, they only needed to hear one name – Shizuo Heiwajima.

"Shut the hell up, you bastard!" And just the same, if anyone ever wondered why Shizuo's voice was deep and rocky; like sleeping on gravel with a bit of lava on the side, then it was as simple as walking the streets during an everyday chase scene. "I hate you! I hate. You!" Street-signs galore came parading from this monstrosity of a man, a variety of multiple objects having since littered the streets of Ikebukuro like a graveyard. And laughing all the while was Izaya, skipping away and avoiding every projectile like it was nothing.

"You should try some variety every once in a while, Shizu-chan! Hearing the same thing over and over is beginning to get old~." Exaggerating the last word, he would then skip into an alleyway, looking about with a smirk. However, he didn't expect to turn; and instantly be confronted with the very face that would be the end of him. "Flea," Came that rugged voice, and Izaya's crimson hues looked towards the weapon in the man's hands. "Have you ever heard of a guy named Hachimenroppi?"

Izaya's color drained; he couldn't help a nervous laugh. Being who he was, he knew for a fact that Roppi had a very strange outlook on life, and he'd always wondered what his counterparts would be like upon meeting Shizuo – and had one day, decided to investigate with the simplistic uses of Psychology.

Of course, it wouldn't change Psyche's outlook. Psyche loved everyone, even people who tended to harm him, so long as they apologized. After all, Izaya wasn't the _best_ father, and he may have abused the boy here and there. Hibiya would more than likely be disgusted; such animalistic behavior was _so _beneath him. Out of all of his counterparts, Izaya believed he shared many outlooks of Hibiya's. And then, there was Roppi. Hachimenroppi, the 'one that got away', as some might put it. Unfortunately for Izaya, he knew without a doubt, that Roppi would love Shizuo so quickly that his own adoration for humans would be on par with it. This _terrible_ counterpart of his, certainly had a nasty disposition when it came to the general population. Betrayal had been a common factor in his life, and, due to this, he'd decided to just 'forget' about humanity altogether. But then, came Shizuo. Shizuo, the only man with inhumane powers, and the ability to turn into somewhat of a monster, yet still be human, down to his beating heart. Not that Izaya would ever admit that in public. Izaya knew Roppi's intrigue would hold no boundaries, and being that Izaya dealt with his death threats for years – which, were well thought out, and often not as dangerous, but far easier to fall into than Shizuo's – one thought was for sure, if Shizuo returned Roppi's request of 'friendship'; And Shizuo, being the one who wanted to be accepted as a human being, would definitely do so. _. . I will certainly have a hard time taking a leisurely walk._

"I might have. Why do you ask?"

"He looks an awful like you, louse. That means you're involved in this shit somehow." Involved? Izaya quirked a brow. "I have nothing to do with whatever it is you're talking about, Shizu-chan."

"DON'T CALL ME 'CHAN'." He seethed, face scrunching in anger, before he took a dangerous step forward, raising his 'weapon'. "Bull shit. You've always got something to do with the weird shit that happens in this town." Izaya couldn't help his laughter; well, that was true. But he certainly had nothing to do with _this._ If there was one thing he wanted to prevent, it was Roppi meeting Shizuo. But apparently that didn't work out so well. "And just what is the 'weird instance' you're speaking of?"

Shizuo gained a rather quizzical look. For one, Izaya was deadpanning when answering a question, and not giving that mocking smirk. Generally, that meant he was being somewhat truthful about whatever it was he was saying – or at least being serious. Something more was to this, if that was the case. "I met this guy. We got into a really long conversation 'cause we were goin' t'get somethin' to eat. Then he told me you talk shit about me every fuckin' day of your miserable life!" He hissed, crunching the sign in his hands, bending it even further than before. "Anyways, that ain't the point. The point is, he said ya' talked about me so much that he's been lookin' for me. 'Cause he wanted t'meet the guy you hated so much. . 'N then he went sayin'. . All this shit that I don't even believe about myself. ." For a moment, he almost shook; and that was Izaya's cue to step in. He knew how Shizuo felt about himself, and that lack of confidence would be the death of him. "Aww, did my little clone compliment poor, monstrous Shizu-chan?"

"FLEEEEAAAAA!"

Sign in hand, Shizuo continued their race through the streets, curses being thrown through the city like every day language. Then again, it was Ikebukuro. Anything could happen here.


End file.
